


Weeds

by FlightOfInsanity



Series: Bean [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightOfInsanity/pseuds/FlightOfInsanity
Summary: Character exploration for a hobgoblin OC spawned from a wonderful commission.





	Weeds

War. Combat. Mutation.

These Trees are everywhere. Everywhere, everything, boring. Uninteresting.

It’s quiet now. It’s been quiet for forever. They don’t speak to you anymore, but you don’t mind. They let you roam and tend to the weeds and that is enough. That is purpose.

Trees within Trees within Trees. Complex networks of trunks and branches and seedlings. There are other Gardens in other places with flowers and thorns and tangled messes of brambles.

Is a Forest a Garden?

Pause, consider, dismiss.

Weeds are tangled in the roots.

Small weeds, glowing weeds, wispy threads of things that don’t belong. Easy to miss and you very nearly did.

You pluck them and hold a seed. It’s different – bright, humming, entangled – but a seed all the same.

What will it grow?

Pause, consider.

Panoptes gathers seeds, but… seeds from Trees. Weeds are dismissed, discarded, left to their own until they are troublesome and then destroyed.

Are you a weed?

Pause, consider, decide.

The past is quiet and below the past quieter still. Old Trees with deep roots long ago stabilized and left alone. This is where you take your seed. You plant it.

Wait. Watch.

It flowers and unfolds and the world is white. Shapes fill in – tall, straight lines; twisting organic silhouettes; dozens, hundreds of points of light. The world may be white and grey but everything in it is nothing but color. Creatures take shape and go about their business. They pay you no more mind than they do of each other. You are simply another aspect of their world.

Are all weeds like this?

Sounds fill the artificial air. Meaningless staccato phonemes, drawn and harmonized tones, the general din of movement and activity.

You wander and observe and understand nothing.

Null patches hang overhead where sections of sky refuse to grow, but everything around you is much more fascinating than anything that could be above.

What are these creatures? This place? These colors?

Where did this come from?

You know the shapes of the creatures – similar to [those who wield what cannot be simulated]. Are they the same?

Wander, consider.

The surface of the ground is loose and kicks up beneath their feet. You sweep a foot through it and a cloud of white and color puffs up. The particles are white but reflect the colors from the lights hanging on everything.

Alert.

Something new.

Everything pauses and you freeze in place. Something else is here.

A sound, a movement, a small machine. You know what will follow – destruction and burning – and you leave, plucking your weed as you go. You land in branches, drawing momentary attention and subsequent dismissal.

Panoptes seeks the small machine and the wielder bound to it.

Pause, consider.

Panoptes will delete the seed.

Pause… consider…

Its entanglement beckons. Colors, lights, sounds. All new, all different.

But it’s a weed. Weeds are to be plucked, discarded.

Pause…

Pause…

You tangle the weed into your wrist and keep it for later. It may be discarded, but not yet.


End file.
